


Versace on the Floor

by Chngminxo



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: A late night ramble, M/M, love and other stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chngminxo/pseuds/Chngminxo
Summary: After the wedding, Junhong goes home to Yongguk.Inspired bythis artwork.





	

After the wedding, Himchan dropped Junhong off outside his building, board under his arm. The Hyungs always did this. He would ride to the dorm, or their company building, to a restaurant or a café or wherever it was they were meeting, but when it came time for them to part ways Himchan and Daehyun would scold, “ _What would your mother say if she knew your Hyungs were letting you ride that thing home late at night.”_ Youngjae would fuss over him, as he always did, act like it was such a hassle that he needed to go a whole five minutes out of his way, Jongup would just nod his head towards the car (often Himchan’s), he didn’t need to say anything. When it was Yongguk, he would smile and scruff his fingers through Junhong’s hair, “ _I’ll take you home.”_ He’d say, but somehow every time, they ended up at his front door, and Junhong wouldn’t make it home until morning.

 

Daehyun called a goodbye from the passenger window as they drove off down the road, and Junhong waved. Originally it was supposed to have been all six of them going to the wedding. It came as no surprise when Yongguk regretfully informed them he wouldn’t make it, he had some catching up to do. Dance practice, recording supervision, listening to the same tracks over and over. Even if it was just a single album, he was going to work himself to death. Jongup’s absence had been a little more unexpected, but he was a perfectionist, and he knew when he had not done his best work and chose to re-record all he had done the day before. Himchan had been disappointed, Junhong had seen the way he gazed longingly at the wedding party in all of its cheesy glory. Jongup was hardly one for grand gestures, but they all knew Himchan wanted nothing more than to shout his feelings from whatever roof he deemed appropriate.

 

Weddings weren’t so much Junhong’s thing. He found them stuffy and somewhat uncomfortable, though admittedly they were far more fun when it was a friend getting married, rather than a family member. As much as he adored his family, he could go without all the questions about school, about idol-hood, about plans for college, plans for marriage, plans for military service. Why he didn’t have a girlfriend yet.  _Surely there is some pretty idol_ they’d say,  _Those Secret Noonas of yours are very pretty._

 

“ _A decade to old.”_ His brother would sneak in, smiling politely. Sometimes Junhong wondered what his brother would say if he told him the truth, the whole truth. He wasn’t too busy for a relationship, not really. It just wasn’t with their idea of the  _right_ person.

 

He looked up at the building that loomed above him. From the street he could see the light filtering from the living room, Junseo’s bedroom beside it. It was cold, and Junhong stood a tempting few metres from the comforting warmth of the block’s lobby but that didn’t stop him from turning away, nor did it stop him from dropping his board to the street below, or from taking off again down the street.

 

It was probably Himchan’s idea of  _too far to go on your skateboard,_ but still Junhong did this trip many times. Every bend in the road was familiar, it was right then left, then right again, he had even memorised the grooves and dips in the road, probably enough to do it with his eyes closed. When he was younger his brother teased him for his memory, calling him a dreamer, anything said to him would enter one ear and filter out through the other to disappear into space and in many ways it was still the case. Junhong remembered everything when it came to Yongguk, though, every street sign, every pitchman bend, and every mole that dotted skin in a design made from chance and the sun and, Junhong was certain, a little divinity thrown in.

 

Beats hammered from a club when he passed and boisterous voices called, but still his foot pushed against the pitchman, dodging mounds of snow stacked on the side of the road and kicking up his board once he made it to familiar territory. Fingers curled around its lip and he dragged it again under his arm, taking the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of a brown wood door, the bronze number bolted to its face. Nine led lights were shining blue from above the handle, and he knew he could easily get in himself, but before punching in the code he hesitated, considered and chose to knock instead. Yongguk had not invited him, after all, if he was even home.

 

Muffled conversation was coming from the apartment down the hall, music from the one above but the noise never bothered him, not after years of living in their boisterous dorm. Junhong guessed any sound was deemed nothing when compared with Daehyun's natural raucous, or Himchan's natural energy, or the simple sound of all of them piled together, the combined volume of six people laughing, talking, adoring each other.

 

The door opened, and Yongguk was rubbing his face. He was tired, obviously, and a subtle shade had developed across his chin.

 

“Hey.” Junhong said, taking in breath through his nose, deep, slow, as though he were afraid he would forget how if he wasn't careful.

 

“Junnie what are you doing here? It's late.” The words may to some be a deterrent, but Junhong saw the way Yongguk's shoulders relaxed, his lips softened into a smile, and his feet automatically carried him back to make room for the maknae to enter.

 

“I...” Junhong hesitated at the question. He stepped over the threshold, leant the board to the wall, undid his shoes, bought time before he had to admit it. Yongguk watched him quietly, up until he stood straight again, flexing his toes, meeting those eyes, “I guess I just wanted to see you. I hope you weren't asleep...”

 

Yongguk was still wearing his jeans and sweatshirt, the kind of stuff always worn around the studio, and he shook his head, “No no, not asleep. I only just got home, dropped Jonguppie home on the way. I hope the wedding was good?”

 

Junhong shrugged, “It was nice. Everyone was having a good time.”

 

“But?” Yongguk quirked an eyebrow. He lifted a hand and pulled the cap from Junhong's head, hanging it off a nearby hook. Slender fingers ran through the messy strands and the maknae closed his eyes.

 

“No buts.” He said, “Just missed you.”

 

Yongguk chuckled and pulled away, turning in towards the living room, “You saw me this morning.” Junhong followed, caught him by the hand.

 

“You know what I mean.” He said. When Yongguk turned around again, Junhong kissed him. It started deeper and only deepened, and soon Yongguk's arms were wrapping around him. Their chests were touching, a little uneven but perfect all the same as bruising lips parted and tongues reached forward to taste, to remember, to learn all over again. Junhong's fingers slipped into Yongguk's hair and carded through the strands, Yongguk's palms dipped below cotton to the beautiful warmth of skin and sometime after that, it stopped mattering why Junhong came over.

 

Neither was quite sure when they made it to the couch, but soon Yongguk was shirtless, and Junhong was, too. Pants were dropped and forgotten, and then they were horizontal. Yongguk's leg hitched up over Junhong's hip and the maknae's mouth trailed down across a jaw, a throat, a pair of collarbones stained with ink. He knew a part of Yongguk would have always wanted his skin to remain pure, as it was the first time they made love when the leader spent what felt like hours adoring every inch of his body in its purity and virginity. The leader didn't mind though, not when Junhong had arrived at his front door, humming with excitement for his new idea, his original design. He'd offered to join him at his appointment, to hold his hand as the needle sunk into flesh but it hadn't mattered so much in the end. The tattoo was part of Junhong, and Yongguk thought every inch of him was perfect.

 

“Junhong-” Yongguk said, his voice somehow deeper, huskier. The maknae could feel his erection where it pressed through the jeans he still wore, and against Junhong's stomach, but he didn't push for more yet. They weren't in any rush.

 

Strong arms wrapped around him, and the leader panted into his ear. If Junhong closed his eyes, he could map every inch of him, navigate great continents of muscle, oceans of skin, mountain peaks and river valleys but he didn't want to look away. Yongguk understood too well, he always had trouble being the one to turn away first.

 

Junhong didn't notice he was smiling until Yongguk was too. Fingers pressed into skin once they were finally bare and they forgot about where they were, who they were, and they only cared about what it was they were feeling. Junhong watched when stars exploded behind Yongguk's eyes, but neither of them let go of each other. It didn't really matter what other people deemed _right._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Late night rambles. This is probably rife with mistakes, but it is late and I am tired, and I wrote this in just over an hour. Inspired by [this beautiful artwork by my talented friend Nana of the same title.](https://whiteblankgallery.tumblr.com/post/157728625395/versace-on-the-floor)


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